


Rest for the restless

by Beweme



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Caretaking, Comfort No Hurt, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Fluff and Humor, I lied, Idiots in Love, Loneliness, M/M, Maxwell taking care of Wilson, Maxwell tries to make him chill, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Constant (Don't Starve), Romantic Fluff, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Cuddles, Watching Someone Sleep, Wilson has no chill, and wilson being bad sleeper, is also a plot, just some tired men living together, thats the plot, theres no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beweme/pseuds/Beweme
Summary: Wilson has been over-working himself and Maxwell just wants him to rest a little, preferably in an actual bed. Unfortunately, Wilson is quite a restless sleeper.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	Rest for the restless

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I just need a little feel-good fluff, and two slightly dysfunctional disaster gays taking care of each other.

"I'm not sure if this is how you're going to make any progress, hon."

"Whh-huh?"

Maxwell watched as Wilson woke up, snapped his head up from his desk, a paper stuck to his cheek and smeared with saliva. A sad, pitiful sight of the man who was over-working himself without even realizing let alone accepting it as the reality. In Wilson's world there was always more he could and should be doing to further progress his experiments, especially the ones that were already finished.

He finished them, was happy with himself for entirety of thirty minutes, and then started to immediately pick up everything that could be better, if he just worked on it a bit more...

Sometimes Maxwell had to physically drag him away from his lab. Science made him happy, but it was also breaking him, exhausting his body, leaving burns and cuts on his skin, making him anxious and unsure and eventually driving him into isolation when he simply forgot that the world outside his laboratory existed. Sometimes Maxwell wouldn't see him for days, only catching glimpses and glances when Wilson wearily wobbled to take something out of the fridge or use bathroom. And even then he moved in an fog of his own mind, paying hardly any attention to his surroundings. Sometimes Maxwell felt like he had become invisible to the other man.

The magician pulled the piece of paper off of Wilson's face and rested his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't you think it would be better to head to the bed already?"

Wilson yawned and mumbled something about the wrong screw sizes and electric wires. Maxwell sighed and helped the man up.

"There you go. No science before next week. Your head will break."

Wilson squirmed himself away from his arms and looked at him with the look of utter disgust "Next week?! I can't sit around and do nothing for that long, how many days do you think I can afford to waste!"

"Pal, it's friday. I'm going to bet that taking a break for two days and spending it with your husband is going to be a healthy amount of free-time away from all this-" Maxwell swirled his wrist gesturing towards the lab equipments "chemical cloud."

"What the hell even is a chemical cloud?"

"It's something your head has been in for too long, and I think it's better for you to come out of this room for a little while. Unless you really consider spending time with me 'a waste', then I suppose I can leave you here in your playground and see myself out."

Wilson looked guilty, and Maxwell was aware that he had struck to where it hurt. Wilson was, above anything else, a very lonely man and needy for companionship, even though he tried to hide it the best he could. But sometimes Maxwell needed to give him some tough love, and if vaguely hinting that if Wilson didn't need his company, that could surely be arranged was what he needed to do to get the man to take care of himself, then he was going to do it.

"Yeah, I think... I think maybe it's time to take a few hour break." Wilson admitted and followed Maxwell out of the attic where his lab was. Maxwell slowed down to wait that Wilson was next to him, and comfortingly placed a hand on his shoulders. That seemed to make the smaller man untense and relax a little bit.

The scientist leaned on him slightly and let him guide his tired feet to the bedroom and lay him in bed. Maxwell watched as he only very lazily kicked the shoes from his feet and pulled the fingerless gloves away, and Maxwell had to help him out of his shirt and pants, because the man was already drifting off now that he was actually in the dark room, on the soft and warm bed instead of hard wooden desk under the bright lights around him.

The older man pulled the blanket on him, and walked to sleep on his own side of the bed. As soon as he pressed his head on the pillow, he already heard the heavy snoring beside him. He smiled softly and run his long fingers through the spiky, fluffy hair, and shut his eyes.

\---

It was almost four in the morning.

Maxwell laid awake and stared at the ceiling. He appreciated Wilson in so many ways. Wilson was great and admirable, there were a lot of reasons to look up to him and acknowledge his accomplishments in life, whether big or small.

That being said, Maxwell did _not_ appreciate Wilson when he was sleeping like this. His feet on the pillow. Kicking Maxwell's face. And stealing the blanket, on top of everything.

If Wilson's stress level wouldn't have been so easy to notice on daily basis, then the way he acted in his sleep sure as hell gave it away. When he didn't have anything to worry about and life was going smoothly, he slept like any other person would. Maybe he sometimes fell asleep on his desk or at the couch and had to be carried to the bed, but the most noticeable activity from him was at least just some mumbling and a little squirming.

But when he was stressed out about something, he became a terror in his sleep. He whimpered and mumbled and whispered things through his sleep, and that was annoying even when the things he said made sense, which most of the time they didn't. He would toss and turn and kick and slap until the bed looked like a tempest had passed through it, the poor pillows and blankets and everything else laying everywhere else except where they were meant to be.

And whenever Wilson was stressed out and slept next to Maxwell, Maxwell had to suffer greatly of his dream antics. He tried to tough his way through it, but some nights it was simply _unbearable!_ Wilson was climbing on top of him, rolling over him and kicking his side, touching his face, drooling on his clothes, and pushing him out of the bed. Maxwell would've been convinced that Wilson was intentionally doing everything in his power to banish the older man from the bed for good, if the poor lad wasn't always so nervous when Maxwell wasn't coming to sleep next to him.

He remembered one certain time, when he had thought that maybe sleeping in the couch was for the best, and had just dragged his blanket and pillow to the downstairs and settled there, having some peace of mind knowing that both of them had their own space and privacy and peace that way. But then, at some point late to the night, he had woken up to the scientist curled up on the floor next to the couch, uncomfortable and only lightly asleep.

When Maxwell had woken him up and asked what the actual hell was he doing on the floor, Wilson had just looked ashamed and told him quietly:

"I don't like sleeping alone. It feels empty."

It almost broke Maxwell's heart. (If he would've had one, which he didn't, if someone happened to ask). It stung, the defenseless need in his voice, before Wilson just yawned and curled up again, and Maxwell had realized that the man had made up his mind about sleeping on the floor if it meant sleeping next to him. He couldn't allow that. So the next day he went to the town, purchased a mattress, and laid it next to the bed, so at least Wilson had company there now.

But then he had woken up to the man _still_ on the floor next to him, fuzzy hair touching the corner of the mattress and hand very tightly curled on his blanket, so needy to be close but too polite to actually come on the mattress uninvited.

And Maxwell had given up and just started sleeping in the bed again. It wasn't as if Wilson was always like a category three hurricane when he slept, just when he had too much to think and was on the over-drive and couldn't stop. Maxwell knew that he had an important meeting with the potential client coming up, and the younger man was beyond nervous about it. Maxwell knew there was no reason to worry, but it didn't stop the scientist losing his mind over it anyway.

The feet pressed on his cheek, pushing hard as Wilson moaned in his sleep and started to move his hand as if he was searching for something. Maxwell sighed and grabbed Wilson's ankle, forcing the disgusting body part out of his face. He sat up and glared at the other man.

Wilson had already made sure that his pillow was on the floor, and the blanket seemed to be headed to the same address. Wilson waved his arm and turned on his side, kicking violently the spot where Maxwell's head was just a moment ago.

The older man sighed and rubbed his hand on his eyes. He was too old for this.

"Wilson." he called in a low voice, gently shaking the man by his shoulder "Wilson. Could you maybe calm down a bit...?"

The man answered him by whimpering and kicking a knee on his hip, which made the taller man hiss and let out a bunch of half-whispered curse words, before he started Shaking Wilson a bit firmer.

"Higgsbury, I've just about had it with-"

Wilson's arms rose up slowly and hooked behind his neck, as the scientist smacked his lips slowly and heaved out a sleepy moan, before fluttering his eyes open.

"Don't you Higgsbury me, Carter." The man muttered sluggishly and pulled the older man's neck to make him lower down "Do you know what time it is? I need to sleep Max. Why did you wake me up?"

"Why did I-?!" Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deep, and Wilson just chuckled.

"Oh, I see. I've been making a mess out of the bed again, haven't I?"

"You think?"

Wilson giggled tiredly and tried to yank Maxwell down again, and eventually the man allowed himself to get lowered against Wilson's chest. The tired fingers run through his hair and a small content hum slithered from his lips.

"Sorry about that. Did I hurt you?"

_Yes, stop attacking my face when you sleep you hooligan._

"No." the old man answered and sighed, pulling his head up "Can we at least turn around and put our heads on the pillows, where they're supposed to be?"

Wilson made a sound that might've been either agreeing or something else, but he didn't resist when Maxwell pulled him up and started to position him to lay correctly on the bed. Only when his head was on the pillow (lifted from the floor), the blanket over his body again, did he turn on his side and lay his hand on Maxwell's chest, pressing down so weakly.

"Can we cuddle?"

Maxwell knew that it helped Wilson sleep better, which was party the reason why he didn't want to sleep alone. Being close was important but what Wilson really wanted, really needed to sleep better, was to be held. He wanted his hand held and his head pet and his body pulled close.

But the young man rarely ever asked for it, and Maxwell knew it was out of respect and fear of crossing the line with him... as if there was any lines they hadn't crossed already. But it was, for some reason, important to Wilson to know that Maxwell would allow the man to touch him. He could argue that they were far past something as minor as needing a permission for a simple hug, but he knew better, because sometimes Maxwell really didn't like to be close. Sometimes the touches felt like ropes abrading his skin, and sometimes even the simple gestures, harmless and gentle, _wanted_ touches, would drive him to such terrible claustrophobia and discomfort that the only way to escape it was to sink into his own head and stay there until the shadows had left his wrist and he felt like he could move again.

On those nights when he didn't want to be close, he often regretted saying out loud. Those were the nights when Wilson would give him a big, understanding smile and say that it was okay, and even though it really was okay, it still left the older man feeling something dark and disgusting in the bottom of his gut. On those night Wilson often didn't sleep at all, staying awake, feeding his brain with science and his stomach with coffee.

Those where the nights when neither of them had any real comfort or satisfaction.

But luckily for both of them, this wasn't one of those nights.

"Sure pal." Maxwell sighed, smiling, and Wilson didn't waste even a second, huddling close and making himself comfortable, his body so warm that Maxwell almost didn't need the blanket anymore (almost).

"You know you can just call me Wilson."

"Hmm. Pal is shorter."

"Oh no, is your memory getting foggy? Is it because you're so old?" Wilson voice was tired, but it didn't stop it reaching the highest point of mockery. Maxwell just huffed and contemplated on turning around and pushing Wilson on the floor as revenge. That would teach him how those poor blankets and pillows felt. But instead he just pretended to have fallen back to sleep already, biting back the need to retort back. He felt the warm hand rising on his forehead and carefully brushing stray hairs out of his face.

"Thank you for being here." Wilson's tired voice mumbled, and his hand pressed briefly on Maxwell's cheek "It never felt like home here, not really. I've never wanted to _live_ here. But you know... if you're here, I think I can understand what being home feels like. It's... It's not so empty when I know you're here."

Wilson was either so tired and stressed out that going on this lonely monologue was comforting to him, or, more likely, he knew that Maxwell wasn't really sleeping yet. There was another soft pet on his face, until Wilson drew his arm away and wrapped it around him, snuggling his head on his shoulder, a small breath of relief huffing out of his nose.

Not long after there was the steady snoring again.

And Maxwell didn't understand how could he feel so calm and content here, in the house that he hated, surrounded by woods and small town that was full of people who didn't understand or care or think. He didn't understand at all.

But he supposed that he didn't need to understand. He was with Wilson, and truth be told, he didn't often understand Wilson either. The man in question made a small noise and started to mutter something under his breath again, something about acid and glass beakers.

Maxwell smiled. He wouldn't choose to be anywhere else in the world than here.

And then Wilson punched his chin and he immediately regretted his life choices.

**Author's Note:**

> Category 3 hurricane, also known as your boyfriend.


End file.
